User blog comment:Llamao/Embrace of the Viper/@comment-3474228-20110816235805

Garond snorts. "Hah, I've already killed two stripehounds! One more won't be any trouble!" He then turns to one of his officers and begins whispering secret orders. "If it looks like I'm losing the fight, fill that stupid badger with arrows. If he dies, they all die!" He then turns back to Bluestripe and walks forwards, parting his army like the Red Sea. He pulls out his large battleaxe and faces Bluestripe from ten metres away. "Bring out your weapon, stripehound, and lets see how well you wield it!"

Flitrunn looks at the wildcat suspiciously. "You think us fools! Tell your army of mudbrained idiots t'drop their weppins, don't want y'gettin' any ideas in the midst of a one-on-one battle!" Garond scoffs. "Hah, why don't your soldiers do the same, rabbet!" Flitrunn turns and nods, and the weasels drop their weapons. Garond does the same, and his soldiers do likewise, save one. An archer, invisible to the weasel army and Long Patrol, stands at the back of Garond's force, a rare steel arrow fitted to his bow.

Garond shrugs. 'There y'go, rabbet, I keep my word." He thrusts his axe forwards aggresively. "Now step forward, stripehound! We fight to the death!" A smile creeps upon his face as he draws a large circle in the middle of the two armies and stands on one side. He beckons to Bluestripe. "Don't be afraid stripehound ... I don't bite." At these words, his tongue glides over his sharp gleaming fangs as he grins wickedly.